


Possession

by ecoman12



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-05 21:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10317710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecoman12/pseuds/ecoman12
Summary: Heather Chandler is dead, sure, but she isn't about to sit back and watch as her only true friend in life is killed by the vindictive spirit of Jason Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

Heather Chandler was hidden in the darkness of the bedroom. It was around 2 o’clock in the morning, maybe, but it wasn't like it mattered. When you were dead, time didn't matter. Nothing really mattered. Ahead of her in the room was a bed, Veronica Sawyer and Heather McNamara were tangled together in it, breathing softly. They had just finished a wild round of sex. The two were getting kinkier every time. Tonight had held with it belts and blindfolds, which was always exciting. Next to the dead Heather floated Kurt and Ram, both equally dead. There were no wardrobe changes in the afterlife, so they were both still clad in nothing but underwear and socks. This made their fatal wounds always visible, Ram with a hole in his neck, Kurt one in the center of his chest. They constantly dripped blood like a spout, painting their white skin red. Tonight, they gushed on and on about Veronica and Heather’s intercourse like it had been a football game. 

“Heather’s form is certainly getting better,” Heather Chandler began slyly, interrupting Ram and Kurt’s talk of clipped nails. “A marked improvement from when she was with you, Kurt.” 

Kurt’s ghostly face went a bright shade of red. “She was great with me! How would you know, anyway?”

Heather smirked. “She wasn’t hesitant to tell me how… disappointing you were.” 

Kurt looked very offended, his hand to his bloody chest. “Kurt is great in bed!” Ram insisted, scowling. 

Heather smirked. “And how do you know that?” Ram’s face quickly turned the same shade of crimson as Kurt’s was, and they backed off. 

There was a small shift on the bed, Veronica moving closer to Heather McNamara and nuzzling into her blonde hair, probably. Heather Chandler floated onto a vanity and sat there, legs crossed. What a bore, the only person you could annoy asleep, and your only company were two boneheads incapable of cognitive thought. 

There was a long, deep sigh from another ghostly form. Oh, yes, three boneheads incapable of cognitive thought. Jason Dean had appeared next to them, watching the bed with eyes on fire. He was by far the most gruesome ghost of the bunch. His hair and trench coat were singed, there was a depression in the middle of his chest where the bomb had begun to blow. It was difficult to tell what had initially killed him, the force of the bomb against his chest, crushing his ribs and insides, or maybe it was the fire, which left his skin burned black in this hell of an afterlife. He was a zombie now, a shadow, nothing more. Kurt and Ram faded away as they always did when he appeared. It seemed like even they couldn't stomach his disfigured face. 

“Feeling jealous?” Heather asked. JD didn't answer, he just kept staring at the two girls in the bed, at Veronica, who shifted slightly, her face pinched for a second with discomfort. “God, you're just so peachy, aren't you. If you start to rattle off a soliloquy about how you’re a vengeful spirit I might barf up drano.” JD finally looked up, his burnt face visible in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom windows. He really was a horrific sight. His right cheek had a hole in the middle, revealing a bit of blinding white bone, and his eyes were pupiless just like all the ghosts’ eyes were. 

“I want to kill her,” he said in a clear voice that rang through the silent room. 

Heather scoffed. “Why?” She floated over to stand beside JD where he was, glaring at the couple in the bed. “Also, how? You're dead, there's no way you can put a gun to her head. Plus, she can't see you, like Veronica can, so you can’t--convince her to kill herself--or something.” Still, his eyes burned with conviction. Heather’s blank eyes rolled in her head. 

“Why is Veronica the only one who sees us?” JDumbass suddenly asked. 

“I dunno, guilt?” Heather waved a hand, looking proud that she was one of the sources of Veronica’s remorse. “She's probably not even sure whether we're real or just a figment of her descent into madness.” She grinned evilly. JDork looked at her, a disgusted look on his face. “Oh, don't give me that, you want to kill her girlfriend! How are you somehow above me?” 

“I know what Veronica needs,” JDunce growled, his teeth bared. “And she doesn't need this stupid girl.” 

“Look, even if you were right, it's not like you can do anything.” Heather brought a hand down over the bed and it went straight through the sleeping couple. Other than a few shivers from the two, there was no effect. Some of her ghostly blue aura clung to them momentarily like fog until fading. JDipshit watched this with interest. “Again, because it seems to keep slipping from your mind, you are dead. You can't do anything. It's been years, when are you going to let this go.” 

JDick looked down at Heather and Veronica again, apparently thinking. “I'll find a way,” he said mindlessly, not really talking to Heather anymore. “She’ll die and I'll get my vengeance.” 

“There you go with the vengeance. Whatever you say, Hamlet,” Heather said to him. JDramaqueen faded from sight finally, so Heather could call out, “alright, he's gone.” 

Kurt and Ram phased back into existence. Ram let out a relieved sigh, then they both looked at Heather eagerly. “Did we miss anything?” Kurt asked. 

“No, they've been sleeping,” she replied bluntly. 

“Ugh.” Ram groaned, disappointed. “How long are they gonna stay asleep?” 

“Until morning, I assume.” 

“I'm glad that guy is gone,” Kurt suddenly said, “he freaks me out.” Ram nodded, agreeing. 

“Yeah…” Heather folded her arms. She looked down at the other Heather, in bed, looking like she was very much enjoying being a little spoon. The Heather floating above was suddenly very afraid. She wasn't sure what JDumbo would do, but she was afraid. Something in his dead eyes, clouded in shadow, made her believe that he would find a way to kill Heather, even if it seemed impossible.


	2. Chapter 2

He made a face. “Listen here, if I’m going to Minnesota, I want the highest pay you can get me, you got that?” He slammed the receiver down on the cradle and stuffed his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a box of cigarettes and lit one, taking a drag. He muttered curses under his breath. Big Bud Dean, the Big Bud Dean didn't deserve this. Sure, his son had blown himself up, but it wasn't like it was his fault. Now, they were making them relocate, to Minnesota. It was bad enough they had made him stay in Sherwood for a couple more years. He had a job down in Texas, he had no time for this. 

Bud let the cigarette rest in the corner of his mouth as he shuffled through some files of blown up buildings. He was at his dining room table, the old crumbling apartment around him. A small picture of JD in a frame stood in front of him, staring, accusing. Bud lowered the picture and let it faceplant on the table. It was night outside, silent as the grave. Sherwood was a small town, so it shut off after nine pm, save the occasional high school party. Bud shivered suddenly, and it wasn't because he was thinking of high schoolers. It was as if someone was watching him. The photo of JD was still down. Bud turned around, there was no one behind him, just a dark, dirty kitchen. He felt his breath start to shake. The faucet over the sink was leaking, dripping periodically. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was defeaning, the sound was going to drive him mad. He got up quickly, so quickly his chair was knocked backwards, but he didn't hear it. He went over to the faucet to turn it off, but when he touched the handle, he drew back in surprise. The metal was as cold as ice. 

He started hyperventilating, his breath suddenly coming out in white plumes. The cigarette dropped from his mouth. The temperature was dropping rapidly, Bud didn't know why. His throat constricted, it felt like someone had wrapped a cold metal wire around his chest and was pulling it, tighter and tighter until he couldn't breath. 

There was a whisper in his ear. “Greetings and salutations, son.” The voice was deathly familiar. He felt as if something was pushing him down to the ground, flat on his back, but he saw nothing.

“Jason?” Bud’s voice was strangled and pathetic. “Y-you're dead.” 

Jason’s voice was again right next to his ear, but he felt no breath, no hand on his chest, pushing him to the floor. Yet here he was, pinned to the ground like there was a stake through him. He felt a presence next to him, almost like a magnet was tugging. “Right-o, son, how observant you are.” 

Bud’s breath hitched. “What do you wh-want from me.” 

Jason’s laugh was like a spider, spindly and dark and crawling out of his invisible throat, making it’s way up Bud’s spine in shivers. “You’ll probably die, unfortunately,” he hissed, his voice snaking through Bud’s right ear and out the other. “I doubt anyone will miss you, though.” 

His skin was on fire, his chest exploding. His vision went white, blinding, then it was red, like blood over his eyes, and finally, it faded to black, and there was nothing


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, uh, Veronica, have you seen my hairbrush?” Heather McNamara pinned her hair into an updo, looking at herself in the mirror. 

Veronica, who was standing in the kitchen cooking eggs, called back, “I dunno! Did you leave it by the bed again?” 

“No! At least, I don't think so…” Heather shrugged and gave up, letting her hair tumble down in messy, uncombed golden curls over her shoulders. She walked out of the bathroom and through the tight hallway of the apartment she shared with Veronica. It was a very small place, the only thing the two college students could afford, but it was enough. Veronica was at the stove when Heather walked into the kitchen. She put the pan of eggs down as Heather approached her, smiling. 

“Good morning,” Veronica said, leaning against the countertop and resting her chin in her hand. 

“What are you doing?” Heather asked, mimicking Veronica’s movements on the other side of the stove. 

“Just enjoying the view.”

Heather snorted, pushing Veronica’s shoulder. “Stop it, you big oaf.” 

“Nnnnnever,” Veronica challenged defiantly, and leaned forward to kiss Heather. They spent a while kissing, as they usually did, not noticing the heat from the stove as both their faces were already red hot. Unfortunately, the smoke alarm began to scream suddenly and the smell of burning eggs filled both of their noses. 

“Ah, Veronica the eggs!” Heather yelled, pulling away with a gasp. “You let them burn!” 

“It's not my fault, you alluring enchantress, you distracted me!” Veronica turned the stove off with a snap and used a towel to clear the smoke as Heather went to open a window. The smoke alarm soon ceased, and Veronica stood in the kitchen, waving a hand in front of her nose and coughing. 

“I guess we'll just have to have cereal then,” Heather said, taking hold of Veronica’s arm and smiling up at her. 

“I guess.” Veronica nodded dreamily, leaning in for another kiss. There was a sudden knock on the door, and Heather put a finger over Veronica’s lips to stop her. Veronica looked disappointed and sighed. “I'll get it.” She went of to the front door, and Heather picked up the pan, using a wooden stirring spoon to scrape the charred eggs into the trash can. She heard the door open, and felt the chill of the wind outside on her bare arms. Though, that was impossible, the front door was out of the kitchen and down a hall, there was no way a draft could reach her. She looked to her right where a window was open, the one she had opened herself, and chastised herself for being nervous. 

“C’mon, Heather, get it together,” she told herself, shutting the window. Oddly enough, she still felt cold. Was the air conditioning on? No, they couldn't afford air conditioning. She rubbed her arms nervously, goosebumps starting to pop up on her skin. Veronica appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, looking down the hall. Heather spun around, breathing hard. 

“There's a…man, here to see you.” Veronica turned to look at Heather, who was hugging herself, hunched over. “Hey, are you alright?” 

Before Heather could answer, a tall man with broad shoulders appeared behind Veronica. He was probably in his 50s, had blonde hair, barely gray and combed to perfection. His suit looked very expensive, Italian maybe, black and with a neat white pocket square. Heather recognized him immediately. “Mr. Chandler? What--?” 

“Hello, Heather,” Mr. Chandler began. “I'm here to discuss something with you,” he said, his small, pencil thin mustache twitching. 

“Um, alright,” Heather said. She sat down at the small kitchen table, which had barely enough room for her and Veronica, and definitely not enough room for a man the size of a linebacker. Still, Steve Chandler managed to squeeze himself on the chair between the table and the fridge, looking very awkward. Veronica left the room to give them some privacy, but was no doubt eavesdropping in the hallway. “What do you need?” Heather asked. 

“I know I am the last person you would expect to see, but it's important.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He’s after you.” 

Heather blinked, puzzled. “Who is?” 

“Big Bud Dean.” 

“JD’s dad?” 

“Yes, I had some business with him the other day, he was not himself, more mad than usual. He was drenched in sweat, pale. When I left, I heard him raving about killing sprees, I heard your name. I think you're in danger, Heather.” He looked at her, eyes pleading, green, just like Heather Chandler’s--but, no, wait, they were not green. They were dark, full of fire like an explosion had been set off inside his head. Those weren't the eyes of Steve Chandler, the nice man who spoiled the hell out of his daughter because he didn't know any better. He had called her Heather, he had never called Duke nor McNamara by their first names, it was always Ms. this and Ms. that, because he wanted his daughter to feel special. Steve Chandler was pale, his forehead sleek and shiny with sweat. Heather stood quickly, her chair falling to the floor. 

“What are you?” she asked, her voice shaking. She stepped away and soon bumped against a wall of the small kitchen. 

Steve Chandler’s facade of nervousness dropped suddenly. His face curled into a grotesque sneer of such pure hatred Heather felt her face burn with the heat of it. Before she could do anything, the man was in front of her in a single stride, towering over her. Before she could scream, he had his hands around her neck, strangling any sound that might escape. Heather was a strong woman, but there was no doubt Steve Chandler was stronger. He never faltered, his eyes burning, even when she placed a good couple knees up into his crotch or stomach. That should have stopped him, but there was something else possessing him, something impossible. Heather’s hands grew weaker and Steve Chandler’s tighter. Her vision began to fade, and she saw stars dance across her eyes. 

There was an enormous CLANG, and the man’s hands froze around her neck. He stood there for a moment, his foreign eyes wide with shock. He then crumpled to the floor, revealing Veronica behind him, an old shovel over her shoulder. Heather keeled forward, but before she could face plant, Veronica had caught her. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she muttered under her breath, letting Heather rest in her lap. “Are you alright?” Her fingers danced over Heather, pushing her blonde hair back from her damp forehead. “Can you hear me?” Heather felt herself float away from the brink of unconsciousness. Her breath was raspy and hurt her raw throat. She nodded slowly, eyes shut tight against the glare of the lights above. Her hands fumbled until they caught hold of Veronica’s shirt collar. Heather could feel her shaking. They held each other tightly. 

“It's alright, Veronica,” Heather said, pulling away to be at arm's length. Her voice was a bit raspy, and her throat was sore, but nothing had been badly damaged. “I'm okay.”

Veronica took her hand and looked to Steve Chandler, still unconscious on the ground. The temperature of the room dropped suddenly, Heather shivered and snuggled closer into Veronica. “Why would he do that?” Veronica asked. 

“I don't think it was him.” Heather sat up and scooted onto the floor, rubbing her sore neck. She stood up and Veronica joined her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“His face, it wasn't right, his eyes, they were so angry, it was like he was--” 

“Possessed.” Veronica wasn't looking at Heather anymore. She was staring at a spot above Steve Chandler’s motionless body, her eyes wide with horror. The temperature of the room was unbearable now, Heather felt her feet sticking to the cold floor. “JD?” 

“Veronica, what are you looking at--?” 

“Run, Heather.” Veronica shoved her toward the door. “RUN!” Heather decided not to question. She stumbled toward the door and ran out into the cramped hallway. Of course, Heather wouldn't leave Veronica. She stood outside the door for a while, unsure of what to do. She heard talking inside, but it was muffled, she couldn't make it out. She rubbed her arms, it was cold again, and she felt as if someone had just brushed past her, but when Heather turned, she found herself alone. The cold was different than the one she had felt in the kitchen, not numbing, not so cold that you couldn't feel your skin. This presence was like a cool breeze’s kiss against your arm, or somebody’s cold hands in yours. Heather felt it pass, confused. There was a yell from inside the kitchen. Veronica. Heather grabbed for the door, but gasped and pulled back. The door knob was so cold it stung her fingers. Heather stared at the door. Veronica was in there, she had to figure something out. There wasn't much room, but she backed up against the wall of the hallway and started ramming her shoulder into the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Veronica had never fought a ghost before, but, there was a first time for everything. It was like someone had splashed cold water on her face as JD rose from the motionless body of a man, Steve Chandler, whom she hadn't recognized. Veronica couldn't remember the last time she had seen a ghost. During the last couple months of senior year and during the gap year she had taken, there were ghostly Heathers, Kurts, and Rams, perpetually haunting the corner of her eye. They weren't terrible, and Veronica felt it right that the apparitions were there, like she was paying penance for her sins somehow. JD’s ghost, though, was different. He was awful, when he was around it felt like you were being dunked in an icy bathtub. Not to mention what he looked like, a burning corpse, his eyes made of molten metal. His visits were few and far between, but whenever Veronica saw him, a cold fist clamped around her heart and her knees threatened to buckle. She remembered loving that corpse, holding him in her arms till they fell asleep to the lull of crickets chirping outside. The thought made her sick to her stomach. Of course, Heather, her girlfriend (the thought was still unbelievable to her), made it better. She was like a beacon that shined through Veronica’s darkest days, and she blinded any ghost that might block her path. 

When Veronica left Sherwood, finally, for college with Heather, the ghosts didn't seem to follow her. Veronica assumed this was because of either one: they were somehow bound to Sherwood in their eternal damnation, or two: the ghosts were just a figment of her guilty imagination, and she had maybe finally learned to forgive herself, with Heather’s help. 

Now, she knew both of those were false, because here JD was. He looked exactly the same as Veronica last saw him, clothes smoldering, skin charred. Despite his red eyes, it was he was in an aquarium tank, blue and unfocused, rippling. It was horrific. “Greetings and salutations,” came his voice, a whisper in the wind. “I apologize for my mode of transportation” --he gestured halfheartedly to Mr. Chandler-- “turns out, once I take them over, they don't last too long.” 

It was then that Veronica noticed the man, motionless on the floor, wasn't breathing. On the contrary, Veronica felt her breath heave in her chest. She had seen dead bodies before, but there was no way she could ever get used to it. Bile rose in her throat as she turned to look at JD. “I came here to kill your little friend, but now that I see you, I realize I can just kill you, and then we'll be together again. It'll be that bitch who will be alone. Still alive, sure, but condemned to the hell that I had to endure. The hell that is being without you, Veronica.” 

It was clear he thought he was being romantic, that this would be some sort of Romeo and Juliet situation, that Veronica would sacrifice herself to be with JD again. “You're psychotic,” Veronica said, starting to shake from the cold. 

“And you look older,” JD commented bluntly. “Still haven't learned anything, though. You've obviously grown none the wiser about how the world works.” He walked closer, floating across the linoleum floor. She took a step back, her lips drying, cracking underneath the pressure of the cold. “Why won't you join me, Veronica? Would it be so bad to spend eternity with me?” He leaped towards her, Veronica yelled out. JD stopped abruptly before he reached her, and just for a moment, the fire in his eyes was doused by a bucket of watery fear. 

Veronica felt like she had just stepped outside into a cool day. She took a deep breath like she hadn't had one in years. Heather Chandler was beside her, blue drano sliding down her chin and dripping onto her silk bed robes. “That's not very gentleman-like, Mr. Jason Dean, telling a girl she looks older.” Heather scoffed, flipping her ghostly blonde hair over her shoulder. “A terrible way to begin a conversation.” There was a loud bang on the kitchen door. “Here comes your girlfriend,” she said to Veronica.

Veronica had never been so glad to see her face, wide smile full of blue stained teeth, blank eyes, and all. JD’s fear fell away and the spark came back. He flew towards Veronica, but Heather stepped in between. JD tackled her and they were locked together in a struggle. Veronica stumbled back, falling onto the floor just as the door’s hinges gave out and Heather McNamara charged into the room. She couldn't see the ghosts, but it was clear she could sense something was going on in the room. She scrambled for Veronica and they clasped hands together, both breathing hard. “What's going on?” Heather asked. 

“Uh.” The dead Heather currently had JD pinned against the cabinets and was slamming his face into them. “The ghost of Heather--uh--Chandler is, um, currently fighting the ghost of JD for us.” 

“Oh, well…that's nice of her,” Heather said, holding tighter to Veronica’s hand. 

Heather Chandler was quickly overpowering JD. He was thrown to the ground, and Heather pinned him down, holding his arm behind him. “Give it up JDweeb, you were a pussy in life, and you're a pussy in the afterlife.” JD twisted around and bit at her like a rabid dog. Veronica could almost see foaming at his mouth. “Jesus, give it a rest, you're done.” Heather loosened her grip and he wriggled free. 

His blank, impossibly livid eyes found Veronica. She fought the urge to cower and stood up, Heather McNamara following her. Heather Chandler stood between them, eyeing the both of them suspiciously. JD spoke in a voice that was the complete opposite of his angry, blue face. “I haven't seen my mother,” he said, clutching at his chest. He sounded impossibly broken, shattered across the floor. “I thought--I thought if I died I would be able to see her again, but she's not here. She's not here, Veronica--” He stumbled forward but Heather Chandler stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Do you see? Why I wanted to kill Heather? Why I wanted to kill you? I have no one--” 

“Oh, zip it you--” 

“No, wait, Heather,” Veronica suddenly said. Heather Chandler looked at her, a bit reproached. She shrugged and dropped her arm, but JD didn't move. His eyes were no longer angry, they were blank pools that had begun to overflow, spilling down his cheeks. He was bawling like a child. “God, JD…” 

JD suddenly lashed out again. Heather McNamara pulled Veronica back, and the dead Heather yanked JD away by the collar of his scorched trench coat. Veronica looked at JD. Her knees felt weak, her breath stuttering. She looked back at Heather McNamara, who only had eyes for her. “Right.” The two turned back to Heather Chandler, who had spoken. “I'm going to take Jessie James away now, any last parting words?” Veronica was silent. “Okay, touching, well--” Heather’s sarcastic toned voice cut off suddenly. Her ghostly eyes had found Steve Chandler, motionless on the floor, sort of pushed to the wall. Heather’s hands went limp and she dropped JD, who fell to the floor on all fours. She made her way toward the heap by the wall with a very uncharacteristic uncertain and frightened look on her blue face. She kneeled down stiffly in front of her father’s immobile form. Her hand reached to touch his shoulder, but she stopped, on account that her hand would just pass through him. She looked like she was about to cry, and Veronica was going to say something, but she suddenly looked over her shoulder to glare bloody murder at JD. He was still on the ground, looking exhausted from fighting and crying. He scrambled away from Heather’s harsh scowl like a cockroach skittering away from a flashlight. “Get over here, you shit stain!” she hollered, blue tinged spit flying from her mouth. “I'm gonna rip you a new one! I'm gonna shove your own hand so far up your ass it'll pull you inside out!”

“What's happening now?” Heather McNamara asked as Veronica winced, wondering if she should stop them.

“Uh, Heather’s found Mr. Chandler--” Veronica was cut off by a sudden and deep intake of breath from the very man she had mentioned. Steve Chandler sat up, eyes wide and knocking around in his head like pinballs. He rolled onto all fours and coughed violently. The dead Heather stopped stalking after JD, staring at her father, unbelieving. 

Once Steve had stopped dry heaving, he sat up, staring round, pale and frightened. His eyes, green like they should be, found Heather McNamara first. “Ms. McNamara?” Then Veronica. “Ms. Sawyer? Where am I?” 

“Uhh, you--um-- fainted,” Heather McNamara walked from Veronica and helped Steve up. “You were visiting us and you fainted, are you alright?” 

“My head is fuzzy… I can't remember. I-I must be getting home, wh--where are we?” 

“Rhode Island,” Heather said tentatively. 

“R-right, of course, I--I must be going now.” He stumbled to the kitchen door opened it, but paused. His daughter was floating near him, her hands held close to her chest as to not accidentally phase through him. He turned back around. “Do you have a phone I can use?”

A short while later, Steve had sorted out a flight back home and had gone, leaving the two Heather’s, Veronica, and JD behind in the small apartment kitchen. Heather Chandler took JD by his collar again. She didn't look as confident as before, almost fragile, but Veronica and Heather McNamara watched as she took in a steadying breath and straightened up again. “You owe me,” she said to them, voice flat. They blinked, and she and JD were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

They decided to skip classes that day, which they really couldn't afford but, what the hell. Heather suggested they visit the library, an offer Veronica never turned down, even though they often spent a lot of time in there for research and the like. Plus it was ridiculously freezing outside so it wasn't like they could really go anywhere else. They were sitting at one of the many wooden tables between rows of bookshelves, close and touching shoulders, looking over the same, red book. Golden light streamed like honey from the windows that kept out the cold but captured the warmth from the sun. This kept the library nice and warm, that and the radiator. Heather’s hand on Veronica’s thigh wasn't hurting either. 

“So, if it could be anywhere, where would you live,” Heather asked her, flipping through some pages on Africa. 

“Dunno, really.” Veronica opened to a political world map, the borders all drawn in thick black lines. “Hey, did you know that, because of scale problems when transferring a globe to a flat map, Africa looks way smaller than it actually is. Greenland looks half its size, while, in reality, Africa is substantially larger.” 

Heather wasn't so much listening to Veronica’s words as she was listening to her voice. The way she spoke very carefully yet quickly when she said smart things. The way her face lit up. Heather watched her lips, she'd like to kiss those lips, very much. Veronica suddenly snapped her fingers in front of her nose. “Are you listening?”

“What? Oh, yeah, totally, something about lips.” Veronica rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing on her mouth. That perfect mouth.

Oh god, Heather thought to herself for maybe the fifth time that day, I'm so gay. 

“Well!” Veronica slammed the book shut, making Heather jump. “What should we do now.” 

“I wanna kiss you,” Heather whined, her hand trailing up Veronica's arm. 

“I know you do, babe, but the creepy librarian is watching us.” Her eyes glanced up to the main desk, where a young guy sat, blatantly staring at them over a book. He quickly hid back behind when he saw them looking. “He's got the hots for you,” Veronica said, scowling and turning back to Heather. 

“Well, duh. You don't think he can take a hint?” She looked at Veronica. “Why don't we kiss in front of him? Just once.” Veronica glanced at the guy and weighed the consequences. He looked pretty harmless, all things considered, kind of scrawny. Was he the type to call the police or ban them from the library or something ridiculous like that if he saw two girls, Heather and Veronica, kissing? Besides, it wasn't just that they were both girls, it was indecent to kiss in public. Though, it was really just them and the librarian, the library was rather empty today. 

“Alright, I guess we can--” Heather grabbed hold of Veronica’s shirt collar and kissed her, cutting off her words. Veronica pulled Heather closer, just then realizing how much she had been aching to kiss her girlfriend. Heather broke off first, looking over her shoulder at the librarian and leaving Veronica cold even in the warm library. The librarian had retreated behind his book again in shame.

“Okay, I don't think he'll be bothering us any time soon,” Heather said triumphantly, looking back to Veronica, who was laughing. “Y’know,” Heather began, scooting a little closer. “There are so many books here, and you're still the one I want to check out.”

Veronica let out a loud snort. “Well, aren't you charming. What do you say we go back to my place?”

“With pleasure,” Heather said, tugging on Veronica’s hand and pulling her to the exit of the library. They were in the car, Heather at the wheel, when she suddenly stopped. “Listen, Veronica, if you ever need to talk about what--what happened, you know you can talk about it with me.” 

Veronica looked ahead at the road her face emotionless, thinking. Her hands had been on the seat belt, ready to click it in, but they went limp, letting the seat belt slip through her fingers. “Sometimes I miss him,” she suddenly blurted. “Sometimes, when I'm alone, I think about how it was all my fault he blew himself up.” 

“Veronica, how in any way was that your fault?” 

“Because, if it weren't for me, he probably would have never met Heather Chandler. If it weren't for me he would had never thought it was his job to--to cleanse my life of Kurt and Ram. He said it was for the world, Heather, he said he would blow up a school for some sort of utopia he envisioned. But it wasn't about that, it was for me. He was going to kill hundreds of people for me. I caused that. And--and from all that there was Martha and you and I don't think I could have lived with myself if either of you were gone--” 

“You listen to me, Veronica Sawyer,” Heather said, cupping Veronica’s cheeks and resting their foreheads together. “You are one of the most selfish people I have ever met. Taking all the blame for yourself, how dare you? It was JD’s choice to do that. Did you ask him to murder three people?” Veronica was a bit scared, and to be completely honest, a little aroused. She shook her head. “Yes, JD’s situation was, to put it lightly, unfortunate, and he saw that it was his job to rid your life of the people who were doing you wrong, but that is not your fault and is not an excuse for what he did.” Veronica didn't say anything, just stared into Heather’s eyes. “Plus, you can't take all the blame. It was my fault too, I bullied Martha and supported Heather Chandler and sure, it was because of peer pressure but that's no excuse for what I did either. Plus, I volunteered you for date rape that one time.” 

“Yeah, that was weird, why did you do that, again?” 

“Heather--Chandler I mean--was always the one to control Kurt and Ram, and with her gone…I guess I thought maybe you could scare them off.”

Veronica furrowed her brow. "Yeah…"

"But--but god, Veronica, I was an idiot, I shouldn't have subjected you to those beer guzzling assholes like that."

"No. I mean, obviously that wasn't great, but it's alright, it's been years!" 

"No, Veronica, we can't just dismiss the terrible things I did. I am going to make it up to you by taking you to dinner tonight so we can talk about our feelings." Heather, looking excited, twisted the ignition and the car roared to life as if it too was enthusiastic by the idea of dinner and feelings.

Veronica smiled warmly at her girlfriend. "Alright."


End file.
